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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838045">merry crisis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsterChonk0/pseuds/AsterChonk0'>AsterChonk0</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we're still young (at heart) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas Cocaine, Christmas Crack, Gen, References to Drugs, somewhat a university au, spoiler - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:35:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>647</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsterChonk0/pseuds/AsterChonk0</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>day 2 : candy canes {from amooniesong's christmas advent prompt}</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; Alexis | Quackity &amp; Jschlatt &amp; Karl Jacobs, Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we're still young (at heart) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>merry crisis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>although i love the prompt list, i can't do it. i have weekly tests that should hopefully be finished by next week, and then we'll see if i can do it</p><p> </p><p>[fingers crossed everybody!]</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This was a bad idea, Wilbur thought, but it was worth it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Currently, it’s nearing 10 p.m. and he’s sitting on one of the stools surrounding the island in his kitchen, Karl on his left and Schlatt on his right, sipping some juice. In front of them, Quackity was beating up a bunch of candy canes in a Ziploc bag with a rolling pin. Something about making “Christmas Cocaine”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are you going to snort it?, Karl hesitantly asks. “Isn’t it going to get stuck in your nose and stuff?”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And fucking burn,” Schlatt points out. “Come on, Quacks, you’re not gonna back out are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like hell I am, bitch,” he grins. He’s still focused on the Ziploc bag, but is now using a steak hammer to smash the candy canes to itty bitty pieces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do realise that if anything breaks, you’re all paying, right?”, Wilbur adds. “Because this is my flat, and I’m not paying.” He drums his fingers against the wooden surface, a steady rhythm matching the smashing thuds of the hammer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Karl waves it off. “Right now, we should be worrying about Quackity burning his nose or dying for that matter, which he can?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was that what you were looking up on your phone the whole time, Karl?,” Wilbur leans over his shoulder to look at his phone, which is open on an article. “This is about snorting Smarties, Karl. Also, record it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Karl huffs, but obliges. “Smarties are also candy too, Wilbur,” he argues. “And it says here that maggots can grow in your nose if it’s still stuck in there, apparently.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And it’s done!,” Quackity proclaims proudly, holding up the bag of now-crushed candy canes. “Who’s ready to die to Christmas Cocaine?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hopefully not,” Wilbur grumbles. “I want to be successful with my musical talent.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The only thing you’ll be famous for is your face and that’s it,” Schlatt says, looking at the bag with curiosity. “Did you crush it enough? If Karl’s right then I don’t want maggots in my nose, Quackity.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Crushed to divinity,” he replies confidently, and opens the ZipLoc. The crushed candy looks like powdered sugar in the bag, but maybe he could scam a few kids or two at college. He’s in his last year, so they most probably wouldn’t ask him too much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fucking finally,” Wilbur mockingly grunts. “Give me the good shit, Big Q,” he reaches a hand out, “Or I’m going to lose it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know how to do dru-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, it’s time to snort.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil isn’t surprised to see Wilbur’s name lighting up his phone at 11 p.m. at night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he is surprised by is the way he sounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur?,” he asks, a tone of confusion clearly heard (he gets a “yeah-fuck, why’s it so-”). “Wilbur, what’s going on?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We, um, we - shit, it burns, it fucking burns - Karl, you take it, ow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil is still confused as the phone is passed and a voice speaks up, “Hey, Mr. Watson,” (Karl Jacobs, from one of the classes Phil teaches), “Sorry, um - yeah I’m doing it, shut up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Karl,” he sighs. He’s tired, and he has an early class tomorrow; he would like to get as much sleep as possible. “I trust you can tell me what’s going on?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s low murmuring on the other side, and then Karl says, “Wilbur, Quackity and Schlatt snorted a bag of crushed candy cane,” (“It’s Christmas cocaine, Karl!,” someone yells, then quietens), “and I told them not to, but they did it any-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are you guys?,” Phil asks, already slipping into his shoes and grabbing his keys. “Are you at Wilbur’s flat?”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, the door’s unlocked, Dad!,” Wilbur yells from behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, why’d I agree to this?,” someone groans in anguish over the phone. “Wilbur, you bit-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The phone cuts, and Phil chuckles softly. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
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